Searching For Salvation
by Nothing But Bones
Summary: When a hard-hitting case has a devastating outcome, Booth's veneer of control crumbles. Will seeking solace in his partner's arms ease his troubled conscience, or only serve to exacerbate his anguish? My first story to really earn its 'M' rating.
1. Chapter 1

On the day that six-year-old Dillon Crane was abducted, the FBI had already uncovered the desecrated remains of three young boys, and Brennan was trying to focus on the minutiae of their bones instead of taking a step back to view the bigger picture, because that meant trying to fathom an incomprehensible act of savagery. The rigours of the investigation were taking a noticeable toll on the team, but there was no reprieve. Their usual banter and good humour suddenly seemed jarringly inappropriate, and the increased sense of urgency following Dillon's abduction was pushing Booth towards breaking point. All of the Squints – including Brennan herself – had fallen foul of his frustration at some point, but none of them had succumbed to a defeatist mentality. They couldn't bring themselves to envisage what would happen if they didn't make the breakthrough in time to save Dillon from what was destined to be a horrific fate. In the past, they always had.

In the absence of Zack, Brennan performed all of the groundwork, but her facade of clinical detachment became increasingly difficult to maintain when examining the broken fingers, shattered jaws, cracked ribs and fractured pelvises of the tiny victims, all of whom were less than eight years old. It was immediately apparent that the innocent young boys had been targeted by the same depraved perpetrator, who held them for days prior to disposing of their battered and broken bodies. But the bastard didn't prolong their misery in the hopes of extracting a ransom from their distraught families; he used them purely for the purposes of his own gratification. The first two sets of remains were too decomposed to be subjected to an autopsy, but when Cam finished examining the cadaver of five-year-old Bobby Reynolds, the latest victim to be unearthed, her devastated expression had voiced the unspeakable.

Angela had burst into tears, running to the bathroom, and a visibly shaken Hodgins was hot on her heels. Cam excused herself shortly thereafter, and had to down two measures of scotch before regaining some sense of equilibrium. Booth maintained a stoic silence, but his posture was rigid with tension and Brennan had been in the process of tentatively approaching him when he suddenly lashed out, kicking a nearby chair and sending it hurtling across the room. She tried to conceal her shock, but with little success, and Booth regarded her with an incomprehensible expression before stalking away. It was only then that Brennan allowed the tears to fall, but they stopped almost as soon as they started. She couldn't allow her objectivity to be compromised. Less than two minutes later, she was back in the lab, filled with a renewed sense of determination, despite the fact that she had endured almost thirty-eight hours without sleep.

By the time Booth returned, Brennan had determined that the perpetrator had inflicted most of the victims' injuries with his bare hands. She was able to calculate the span of the appendages in question, as well as the fact that he favoured the use of his left hand. With Hodgins's help, she also managed to establish the exact make and model of the baseball bat and the brand of pliers that had inflicted the more substantial damage, as well as the knife that eventually ended the victims' suffering. Her hands shook slightly as she handed her findings to her partner, and she glanced up in surprise when Booth gently ran his thumb along the length of her knuckles, before leaving to pursue the leads.

Unfortunately, there was nothing distinctive about the weapons in question – the pliers could have been purchased from any DIY store, the knife was from a cheap kitchenware set that had almost sold out owing to its popularity, and the baseball bat seemed to be a fixture in every kid's backyard. In the absence of the elusive weapons themselves, tracing their origin was fruitless.

Trying not to be affected by the increasing sense of desperation that permeated every inch of the lab, Brennan provided Booth with a physical profile of the murderer, including an approximation of his height and weight. The Angelator assisted them in deducing his modus operandi, but even still, that hadn't been enough to help them to identify a suspect – not when there were no discernable links between the victims. They didn't attend the same school, participate in any extra curricular activities together, or live in the same neighbourhood. Their parents were strangers, had never encountered each other in the course of carrying out their diverse professions, and none of them appeared to have amassed any enemies along the way. Booth had his whole task force interviewing everyone the boys had ever come into contact with, but there were no connections, no witnesses, nothing. Every avenue became a cul-de-sac, and every dead end drove Booth further towards the brink of despair.

It was 2am on Thursday morning when Cam and Hodgins argued their way into an epiphany. The bugs and slime guy had been perturbed by the incongruous trace evidence on what was left of the victims' decayed clothing, but when Cam stopped being supportive and started piling on the pressure, they finally got their breakthrough. Booth was sprinting towards his SUV within a matter of seconds, and Brennan was running right alongside him. The knowledge that they finally had the information they needed instantly eradicated the effects of chronic sleep deprivation. They might not have known the 'who,' but they finally had the 'where,' and that was a blessing they were more than willing to accept. Still, it was going to be a delicate operation, and dealing with an unknown entity made the situation even more volatile. Booth had the foresight to call for backup before they arrived on the scene and, seeing him flanked by twelve of his fellow Agents - knowing he was wearing a bulletproof vest - for once Brennan heeded his solemn plea for her to stay in the SUV. And, despite feeling completely inadequate, she had. At least until the piercing sounds of the gunshots subsided. Waiting for Booth to emerge unscathed was agonising, but when he didn't appear after ten minutes, all of her previous vows were swept away in a torrid rush of adrenaline.

In hindsight, she realised the Agent guarding the door was trying to spare her a lifetime's worth of trauma by denying her access to the scene. However, having already caught sight of her partner slumped on his knees, Temperance's response to the robust man's chivalry had been to forcibly push her way past him. Her first thoughts were that Booth had been injured, and at the time that was the worst scenario she could have possibly envisaged.

Then she realised that her partner was cradling the lifeless form of Dillon Crane in his arms, giving the impression that he was trying to shield him from the unspeakable horrors he had already endured. For the first time since she could remember, Brennan was looking at a dead person who hadn't been reduced to flesh and bone. Dillon was battered beyond all recognition, and his frail frame offered an excruciating insight into how much he had suffered prior to his death, but the innocent boy he had once been still shone through the blood and the bruises. They were too late to offer him salvation.

Brennan's eyes welled with tears as she watched Booth murmuring an inaudible apology into the deceased boy's filthy hair, before gazing up to the Heavens with an agonised expression that clearly begged the question, 'why?' He was rocking Dillon against him with infinite tenderness, and Brennan wondered if he was aware of the attention he was gathering. She wanted to shout at the other Agents to stop staring, but when she took the time to study their expressions, she realised several of them were on the verge of tears. There was no recrimination in their empathetic gazes, even though Booth was effectively contaminating evidence. She supposed that was because they no longer had to worry about catching the monster responsible for this atrocity.

As Brennan's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the crumpled corpse of a white male, who appeared to be around 40-45 years of age. She wanted to see his face; she wanted to know whether she was capable of identifying the kind of man who could commit such horrific acts of violence against defenceless victims, but all she saw was the blood-spattered bullet hole between his eyes; a hole that had been drilled with lethal precision. Once again, her eyes flitted towards her partner and, as if to confirm her suspicions, an Agent chose that moment to gingerly pick up the gun that Booth had set aside and place it in an evidence bag. As Booth continued to gaze up at the ceiling, praying for the boy's lost soul to find its way home, Temperance wondered if her partner realised that he had been the one to exact divine retribution for Dillon Crane.

Until now, Brennan had never thought it was possible for your heart to break. People spoke of this ludicrous phenomenon as though it was almost commonplace, and every time she heard the trite expression, she inwardly rolled her eyes. 'A broken heart' was a metaphorical assertion that was steeped in melodrama, usually for the purposes of attention seeking. However, as she watched several Agents gently trying to coax Booth into relinquishing his hold on the young boy, Brennan was finding it increasingly difficult to rationalise the wrenching ache in her pounding chest, and respiration no longer seemed like a natural process. Sucking air into her burning lungs had become an arduous task, and she found herself wondering whether failure had the capacity to weigh down on you like a heavy and unyielding mass. It was omnipresent; inescapable, and every one of her shallow breaths seemed to exacerbate the burden. She swallowed intermittently in a bid to obliterate the prominent lump in her throat. It was threatening to choke her, and even though asphyxiation would probably be a welcome reprieve at this moment in time, she knew her own pain was negligible in comparison to Booth's. Dillon was the same age as his son, and she wondered if he was imagining what it would have been like if Parker had been taken in his place. She could understand why he was so loath to let the young boy go.

At some point, Deputy Director Cullen had arrived at the scene, and Temperance watched as he hesitantly approached her partner, laying a hand on Booth's shoulder and offering his commiserations in a surprisingly kind tone. Booth, however, seemed to be lost in a grief-stricken reverie, and she could see that Cullen's words were failing to register. The aging Deputy-Director picked up his cell phone, and when she heard him utter the words 'Dr Sweets,' the thrumming of her heart started anew and she knew she had to intervene.

"Booth?" Her hand was trembling when it came to rest on the nape of her partner's neck, and to her surprise, Booth immediately turned to face her. She should have questioned her ability to reach him when no one else was able to elicit a response, but instead she stifled a gasp when she saw the raw pain characterising his haggard features.

"You shouldn't have to see this, Bones. Go and wait in the car. I'll be out in a minute."

His tone was little more than a strangled whisper, and even though she had been trying desperately hard not to glance at Dillon since establishing her newfound proximity to his crumpled form, her partner's words seemed to compel her to look downwards, and she couldn't suppress a cry of anguish at what she saw. The little boy's blackened face was frozen into a tableau of terror, and for the first time in her life, Temperance understood the compulsion to flee from a crime scene and violently regurgitate the contents of her stomach. Instead, she, too, sank to her knees, and watched as Booth's protective grip on the little boy began to waver.

"I'm not leaving without you, Booth."

Her partner was still feebly clutching Dillon's mangled hands, and it took all of Temperance's willpower to retain her composure as she gently prised his fingers away. "You need to let go," she whispered, chafing his knuckles with her trembling thumb as she gradually replaced Dillon's hands with her own.

He gave her his undivided attention then, and his expression clearly conveyed that the young boy's death wasn't something he would ever be able to let go of. She nodded almost imperceptibly to indicate that she understood, and then buried her head in his shoulder, feeling the vibrations running through his tense physique as he drew in a hitching breath.

"Agent Booth?" A young Agent tentatively approached them, carrying a body bag that looked painfully small.

Booth eyed him warily, and then nodded, finally gathering the resolve to lay Dillon's prostrate form onto the cold cement floor. His fingers gently smoothed back the little boy's hair, and he leant over him for what seemed like an eternity before eventually finding the strength to drag himself to his feet. Seemingly unaware of the fact that he continued to clutch Brennan's hand, Booth made his way towards Cullen, but the Deputy Director began shaking his head before he'd even had the opportunity to open his mouth.

"Your statement can wait until later, Booth." Cullen clapped him on the shoulder in a fatherly gesture of support. "You busted your ass on this one and I've got twelve witnesses who are adamant that the bastard had it coming." He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "Go home and get some rest, and I don't want to see you back at work until you feel up to it. You got that?"

Booth nodded gratefully and managed a weary half-smile, but Brennan wasn't the only one who noticed his lingering distress. As Booth made to leave, Cullen seized his forearm and eyed him intently.

"Don't even think about blaming yourself, Booth. The only person responsible for that poor kid's demise is that sick fuck over there." He glanced towards the corner of the room with eyes that were blazing with contempt, and then turned to Brennan, favouring her with a slight smile that she half-heartedly returned. "And that goes for you, too, Dr Brennan. You and your squints did everything you could. We all know that."

"Thank you, Sir." Booth's jaded tone clearly conveyed that he had found little solace in his boss' reassuring words, and he tugged lightly at Brennan's hand, discreetly tilting his head towards the door.

Brennan offered Cullen a polite nod, before focusing all of her attention on keeping pace with her partner, who was power-walking through the ramshackle warehouse at a speed she was struggling to match.

She didn't know what to say when they finally reached the SUV. For a moment, Booth leant against its exterior as though it was the only thing keeping him standing, and then he slid downwards until he was crouching on the balls of his feet, releasing her hand so he could bury his head in his arms. Shielded from the view of prying eyes, for one terrifying moment, Brennan thought her partner was going to cry, and the prospect made her own eyes well with unshed tears. Booth had reined in his emotions remarkably well, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he broke down completely. She had never seen him so utterly defeated before, and she was scared that her social inadequacy would only make matters worse. She sank down besides him, laying a hand on his forearm and trying to stroke away the tension she found there.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, but the sentiment seemed painfully inadequate. Was it even the right thing to say? It was what they told the distraught families whose loved ones she had identified, and it was what Booth said to her when Ripley was put down. Although the words themselves hadn't made her feel any better, the fact that he so obviously meant them had, and she hoped they offered him some small measure of comfort.

He looked at her then, and there was a fleeting spark of warmth in his otherwise deadened eyes. And then he asked her if she was OK, as though her pain somehow took precedence over his own, and she shook her head in disbelief, throwing her reservations aside and pulling him into a fierce embrace. Her lips grazed the stubble on his unshaven cheek, and she pressed them lightly against his temple, barely noticing when their combined weight brought them to their knees in the damp, muddy undergrowth.

"Bones, I'm filthy," he protested weakly, but she was heedless of the blood staining his clothing and hands, immune to the pervasive stench of terror and death that clung to him, completely obliterating the scent of his cologne. When he realised she wasn't going to recoil in horror, Booth's arms inched around his partner's slender waist, and he tried not to think of Dillon Crane as he cradled her against him. She was cold, and trembling, but she was alive, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar fragrance of her shampoo and allowing it to soothe his sickened senses.

Booth was visibly exhausted, but Brennan's breathing became a little less laboured when he started to relax against her. They held each other tightly for several minutes, but Brennan's bloodshot eyes flew open when Booth's back went rigid and he abruptly released her, hauling her to her feet before she even had the time to wonder why.

"Get in the car," he barked out, and something about the brittleness of his tone told her that now wasn't a good time to question whether he was fit to drive. For a moment, she was too shocked to function, but the knot in her stomach gradually loosened as she followed the direction of Booth's harried gaze. Cullen clearly hadn't bothered to inform Sweets that he was no longer needed, and the therapist was advancing towards them with an inscrutable expression. Though she was inwardly concerned about how much he might have witnessed, Brennan didn't need to be told twice. Sweets had barely managed to advance three feet before Booth turned the ignition and sped away, and if it hadn't seemed so horribly inappropriate, Brennan would have smirked at the therapist's stunned countenance.

It was another ten minutes before either of them spoke.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you like that. I'm sorry." Booth's jaw was clenched tightly, but he loosened it for long enough to heave an aggrieved sigh. "There's just no way I could've dealt with that sanctimonious little shit back there."

"I know," Brennan murmured, studying her hands attentively, "It's OK."

Silence descended again, and Brennan gazed out of her window with unseeing eyes. When they reached the street housing her apartment complex, her heart began to hammer disconcertingly against her chest, and her stomach sank when Booth failed to cut the engine upon pulling into her parking lot. She should have been relieved. This was her get-out clause; she had enough emotions of her own to process without adding her devastated partner into the equation. Booth had spent the duration of the journey carefully cultivating an expression of detachment, but his haunted eyes told an entirely different story, and she knew it wouldn't take much for his façade of self-possession to shatter into thousands of irreparable pieces. The thought of him falling apart in her less-than-capable hands terrified her; to the extent that she wanted to say goodnight and run in the opposite direction, but something was stopping her from utilising her 'get out of jail free' card.

"You should come up," she offered, and Booth glanced at her in surprise. He clearly hadn't been expecting the invitation, either.

"I think I'm just gonna go home, jump in the shower and then crash, Bones." He stared at his bloody hands with an unhealthy fascination, and refused to meet her concerned gaze. "I don't really feel like talking tonight."

"Neither do I," Brennan confessed, giving him a tentative smile. "But we can maintain a vigil of silence together, right?" She unfastened her seatbelt and leant over her chair, fumbling her way around the back seat until she found her partner's overnight bag. Booth always kept a spare set of clothes in his car, because they never knew when they were going to be called to a crime scene. "You can shower and change at mine," she ventured, regarding him hopefully, and he slowly shook his head.

"It's OK, Bones, really. I'll be fine."

His voice cracked on the last syllable, and Temperance looked at him sharply. She wished she knew how to ease his pain – Booth always knew the right thing to say, the right thing to do. He knew when to give her some much-needed space, when to bring her Chinese takeout, and how a small plastic pig had the capacity to make her smile again. She was comparatively clueless. She reached for his hand, squeezing it tenderly. "You're not fine, Booth," she said softly, regarding him intently. "Even I can see that you're extremely upset."

"OF COURSE I'M UPSET, BONES!" Booth yelled in an unexpected tirade of anger, wrenching his hand away from her. "And I really don't think you're the best person to be educating me about how to deal with my emotions, OK?"

Brennan recoiled as though she had been struck. Clearly she had completely misjudged the situation and her presence was doing more harm than good. "OK," she murmured, choking back tears, and she fumbled hastily in a bid to open the door. She stumbled out of the car, swiping furiously at her eyes, and had almost made it to her door before Booth finally caught up to her. The first time he called her given name, she ignored him, but then he was clasping her shoulders and saying it again, only this time it was punctuated by a heaving sob...


	2. Chapter 2

Brennan's heart felt like it was breaking all over again as she observed the tears flowing freely down her partner's cheeks, and she wordlessly opened her door, kicking off her shoes before kneeling to remove Booth's cumbersome work boots. She took his hand, leading him straight towards her spacious bathroom, and he used what little energy he had left to sink gracelessly onto her toilet seat, painfully aware that his soiled form was marring the immaculately maintained room. He continued to mumble feeble apologies through his broken sobs, relinquishing what little dignity he had left when Brennan stood in front of him and he virtually collapsed into her waiting arms. She clutched him tightly against her chest, and he burrowed into her, wondering if this debilitating moment was going to alter Bones' perspective of him forever.

When he finally regained some modicum of self-control, he pulled back, evading her concerned gaze and feigning interest in one of the many patterned tiles gracing the walls. "I should go," he said wearily, but when he made an attempt to vanquish his fatigue and stand, Brennan's grip tightened exponentially.

"No." She wound her fingers through his already dishevelled hair, quelling his protests with a warning look. "You don't have to be strong all the time, Booth, and contrary to what you might believe, I don't expect you to be." She buried her head in the crook of his neck, whispering her next words directly into his ear, "Do you remember what you said you'd do if you ever got scared?"

Fighting an internal battle, Booth eventually nodded, and his shoulders sagged as he obligingly sank into Brennan's embrace. Relinquishing control should have been so much harder than this, but succumbing to his partner's gentle ministrations seemed like the most natural thing in the world, and he allowed her soft caresses to lull him into a fitful trance.

Some time later, he realised he was being hauled into an upright position and led towards the sink, and he felt his partner's lithe form pressing lightly against his back, supporting some of his body weight as she turned on the taps, waiting for the water to run hot. Then she gently guided his hands under the steady stream of steaming water, performing a cursory rinse before she lathered some heavenly smelling soap onto her palms and proceeded to massage away the blood and grime that had accumulated over the course of the last few hours. Booth closed his eyes as Temperance's deft fingers wove in and out of his own, and he unconsciously leant into her warmth, knowing this was the first time he had ever derived an iota of pleasure from helplessness. She was so impossibly close to him, her hips were sandwiched against his ass, and every time she exhaled, her sweet breath caressed the skin on the back of his neck.

When he realised her soothing touch was becoming increasingly languorous, his eyelids fluttered open, and he saw that she was regarding him intently in the expansive mirror. Two dazzling azure orbs sparkled in stark contrast to his muted brown ones, and Brennan's porcelain skin looked flawless next to his tanned complexion. Both of them appeared somewhat the worse for wear, but with her smooth hands interlinking with his far more weathered ones, they made a surprisingly complementary couple, and Booth couldn't help but notice how good they looked good together. Too good. He committed the image to memory before the intensity of her penetrating gaze forced him to look away.

Mustering what little pride he had left, Booth gave his partner's hands an affectionate squeeze before he reluctantly extricated himself from her partial embrace. However, he soon realised just how much support she had been offering him when his knees buckled and the room began to spin. He had no choice but to sink heavily to the pristine floor, collapsing into a pitiful heap. Figuring that he had already lost what little self-respect he had remaining, he feebly allowed Brennan to pat his hands dry, and then promptly buried his head in them.

Brennan reached out, resting her hand lightly against his shoulder. "Cullen was right. You can't blame yourself, Booth. What happened to Dillon wasn't your fault," she stated with utmost conviction, but he shook his head in response.

"Yes, it was. Don't you get it, Bones?" His tone was overwrought with anguish, not recrimination. "If only we'd been half an hour earlier, we could have saved him. If I hadn't fallen asleep this afternoon…" He trailed off, and angrily blinked back another onslaught of tears.

"Booth, you hadn't slept for nearly fifty hours! You needed to rest. And if that's the way you're looking at things, then all of us should be shouldering the blame." She gently ran her hands over his tense forearms. "The burden can't lie solely on your shoulders, because none of us were on task 24/7. You're not superhuman, Booth." She chewed her lip, staring at the floor. "I'm just as responsible for all of this as you are."

"No!" Booth gripped his partner's shoulders with renewed strength. "None of this is your fault, OK? You gave me all the answers I needed. I just didn't know what to do with them," he concluded brokenly.

"And neither did the thirty other Agents who were assigned to Dillon's case!"

Booth regarded her attentively for a moment, and then shook his head. "God, that poor kid. He was so small… he was just so…" His face crumpled all over again, and Brennan wondered whether it was all right to cry when you were trying to be strong for someone else. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she sniffed quietly, discreetly raising a hand to wipe her face. The next thing she knew, she was being gathered into her partner's arms, and once again they found themselves desolately clinging to each other. Temperance was trying desperately hard to repress her sobs, but when one finally broke free, Booth's hand quickly sought out her chin. He cupped it tenderly in his palm, forcing her to initiate eye contact, and then he brushed his thumb lightly over her sodden cheeks, catching her tears before they had the chance to fall any further. She blushed slightly under his unwavering appraisal, bowing her head, and then his lips were murmuring words of reassurance against her furrowed brow. The hand that had been resting against the underside of her chin was now lovingly caressing the side of her neck, and she found herself shivering involuntarily as Booth's thumb tenderly grazed her pulse point. He kissed her forehead, so softly that she barely registered the contact, and then his lips were brushing her cheeks, her nose and then finally, her mouth. They lingered there for long enough to invoke an intensely pleasurable sensation, and her eyelids fluttered closed as she whimpered slightly in response, but then Booth was backing away from her with an expression of abject horror on his face.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, Bones. I shouldn't have done that," he choked out, and though she wouldn't have thought it possible, he now looked even more distraught than when he had first set foot inside her apartment.

"Booth, it's OK," she instantly reassured him, but he was shaking his head as though he failed to hear her. Brennan's heart ached for him, and before she had really registered what she was doing, she had crossed the room and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder. "It's OK," she reiterated, frowning when she realised just how fast his heart was pounding.

"No, it's not." He gently disentangled himself from her embrace, leaning against the wall and sighing aggrievedly. "I can't... I can't do this."

"Can't do what, Booth?"

He shook his head despairingly. "I'm sorry Bones, I have to go." He tried to brush his way past her, but she immediately blocked his exit.

"Booth, you can barely stand. There is no way I'm letting you walk out of that door," she informed him definitively, leaving little room for argument. He looked at her then, and his eyes were swimming with desperation.

"Bones, please," he begged, visibly flinching as her hands reached out to clasp his shoulders.

"What, Booth? Tell me what you need." Her tone had dropped to little more than a hoarse whisper, and her eyes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and anticipation. His expression was inscrutable as he stepped towards her, his trembling fingers tenderly trailing the length of her cheek, and for one brief moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again.

Then he dropped his gaze, and his eyes fell to his blood soaked garments as if seeing them for the first time. "I need… I need to…" he trailed off, lurching towards her deluxe bathtub, and he nearly wrenched the shower curtain from its rail in his haste to draw it back. Temperance heard the panic infiltrating his exhausted tone and watched with concern as her partner fumbled with the Velcro on his bulletproof vest. His shaking hands were completely ineffectual, and she approached him decisively, despite feeling completely out of her depth.

"Sit down," she commanded, gesturing to the inbuilt seat positioned at the end of her tub, situated slightly to the right of the showerhead itself. He complied, and she shrugged off her jacket, climbing in after him and making quick work of unfastening the cumbersome vest. Her hands brushed against his defined biceps as she dexterously eased the weighty material over his broad shoulders, tossing the vest unceremoniously onto the floor. Ignoring his protests, she then set to work on unbuttoning his dress shirt, leaving his sculpted torso clad in little more than a flimsy white undershirt. She wondered whether the goose pimples that rose on his arms were the result of the cold, or her touch, and she got her answer when her hands roved downwards to begin deftly unbuckling his belt.

"Bones…" Booth's hands, which seemed to be shaking even more violently than before, rapidly reached out to still her own, and he regarded her with an expression that she found hard to decipher. "I can manage," he ground out, and his tone was gruff with some untold emotion as he persisted in evading her gaze.

Temperance flushed slightly, but made no effort to remove her hand. "I'm just trying to help, Booth," she assured him, trying to keep her voice level as she bent to unzip his mud-spattered pants. She tugged gently at the waistline, indicating that she needed him to lift his hips so she could remove them completely, and he reluctantly obliged, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and something else that she didn't want to identify as her fingers lightly ran across the length of his hips. She worked the clasp on his cumbersome wristwatch, placing it carefully on the counter, before kneeling to remove his star spangled socks with a wry smile.

"Very fetching," she remarked, hoping to ease the palpable tension, but when she glanced upwards to seek out her partner's gaze, she found herself swallowing audibly. Booth was no longer staring uncomfortably at the base of the bathtub; he was staring at her with an intensity that was wholly disconcerting.

"Please stop," he whispered, in a tone that was close to approaching desperation. "This is too much, Bones. I can't… I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me." Still on her knees, she shuffled closer towards him, and slipped her hands beneath the cotton fabric of his undershirt. He shivered as her fingers travelled the length of his torso, and his muscles quivered helplessly in response to her delicate touch. Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach as her hands found a particularly sensitive spot at the base of his abdomen, and then suddenly she was pulling the shirt over his head and flicking on the shower all at once.

He closed his eyes against the sting of the spray, flinching as the freezing cold water pounded against his sensitised skin. He waited until it had warmed up before opening them again, and promptly went slack-jawed with shock when he realised Brennan had taken the opportunity to shed the vast majority of her conservative attire. The straps of her bra were evident beneath her light purple undershirt, and the fine mist of spray had ensured that it was sodden enough to cling to her perfectly proportioned frame in all the right places. Realising that his face was currently level with a set of modest black panties and slender, toned thighs, Booth leapt to his feet, shaking his head violently.

Brennan captured him in her arms before he could collide with the wall, stalling his hasty departure. "Booth, I'm not going to… I just want to..." She trailed off when she saw a myriad of conflicting emotions cross his features, and raised a trembling hand to smooth out the creases on his furrowed brow. "Please, just trust me."

"I don't know if I can trust myself," he finally admitted, and he stared determinedly at his feet, as though he couldn't bear to witness her reaction to his words.

She studied him for a moment, knowing that he had made a confession of sorts. He was effectively admitting to sharing the feelings that she had been struggling with for what seemed like an eternity, and she knew she was supposed to be shocked, or appalled. She knew he expected her to regard him with bewilderment, or perhaps even flee in disgust. Instead, she felt nothing but relief. His fleeting kiss hadn't been a spur-of-the-moment thing; it hadn't derived solely from his grief; from his need for comfort. Maybe he, too, felt a pang of longing when he looked at her, maybe he understood what it felt like to be consumed by a burning ache that could never be quenched. The need for something more had always been omnipresent, but now it seemed almost tangible.

She reached for a bottle of shampoo and simultaneously eased him into a sitting position, cranking up the heat as she angled the showerhead towards him. "Just relax," she whispered, swallowing her arousal as she stepped between his parted legs, pouring a generous amount of shampoo onto her palms and working up a rich lather as she ran her fingers through his unkempt hair. She massaged his scalp until she felt the tension slowly starting to seep out of him, and he kept his eyes tightly shut to avoid acknowledging the proximity of her ample cleavage. She pulled the showerhead free of its restraint, tugging him forwards and angling his chin upwards so she could rinse away the soapsuds without them stinging his already bloodshot eyes. When the last remnants of shampoo filtered down the plughole, she kissed his forehead to let him know she'd finished, and he regarded her with eyes that were hooded with barely suppressed desire. He shifted slightly, and his cheeks started to burn when her eyes were drawn to the prominent bulge accentuated by his sodden boxer shorts.

She cleared her throat, pulling him to his feet and allowing him to rest against the wall as she reached for her fragrant body wash. They both had to stifle a moan when her slick fingers traversed the length of his heaving torso, kneading the cool liquid into his firm flesh until it frothed accordingly. Noticing that his hands were no longer trembling to a hazardous extent, Brennan handed her partner a disposable razor, and when she turned her sanity-stealing attentions to his back, Booth found himself more than grateful for the distraction. He carefully began removing the stubble that had accumulated over the past four days, and managed to avoid nicking himself until Brennan's fingers inadvertently brushed against the waistband of his boxer shorts.

He cursed as the blood began to trickle down his cheek, and her hands immediately stilled against his spine.

"Bones, what are you trying to do to me?" he whispered hoarsely, finally mustering the courage to face her. Her gaunt features were still suffering from the lingering effects of fatigue and she looked worryingly haggard. There were dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, and matted tendrils of damp hair were clinging to her face, but Booth was oblivious to the flaws in his version of perfection. Spellbound by his partner's glowing cheeks, glazed eyes, and parted lips; he immediately knew that his powers of resistance would be futile in the face of her breathtaking beauty. Still, that didn't stop him from trying to emerge unscathed, especially when he considered her questionable motivations. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his resolve, and then regarded her intently. "If this is your way of helping me to drown my sorrows, then I'd rather you pour me a shot of whisky."

Seeing the stricken look on his partner's face, Booth immediately realised how callous that must have sounded, and he reached for her hands, chasing away droplets of water with his thumbs. "I'm not going to jeopardise our partnership for the sake of a one night stand," he clarified, regarding her with an expression that clearly conveyed the depth of his feelings. "You mean too much to me, and this has already gone too far."

Brennan regarded him bitterly. "And I don't suppose it ever occurred to you that maybe you 'mean that much' to me, too?"

Booth regarded her quizzically, barely daring to raise his hopes. "What are you saying, Bones?"

She shook her head, wrenching her hands away from him. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does." The surge of adrenaline, combined with the revitalising warmth of the shower, was making him feel oddly rejuvenated, and he had little trouble in halting her rapid retreat. "Tell me," he demanded, grasping her forearms, and Brennan's eyes promptly began welling with tears.

She sucked in a heaving breath, and after what seemed like an eternity, she finally whispered her confession – a confession that had the capacity to change everything. "I want you," she admitted quietly, almost meekly. "I always have." The tears began falling in earnest then, and Booth pulled her into a tight embrace, angling her back towards the showerhead to instil some warmth into her trembling frame. The roar of the water almost drowned out the words that hesitantly followed, but her lips were resting in the vicinity of his ear so he heard them nevertheless. "I always will."

He kissed her then, finally acquiescing to the inevitable. Her lips were soft and impossibly malleable as he gently covered them with his own, and he cupped her face in his hands as their mouths quickly fell into an agreeable rhythm. He shouldn't have been surprised that her velvety tongue was even more skilled than her nimble fingers, and he allowed her to hungrily explore his depths, meeting her stroke for stroke and moaning helplessly as he finally got to taste her sweetness.

Pressing herself flush against him, she inched him towards the wall, and once he was anchored against it, she dragged her fingertips across his muscular chest, following them at a far more leisurely pace with her lips. Her tongue lathed his pulse point, and then flicked lightly over his nipples, causing his legs to quiver dangerously in response. Their eyes locked as her hands brushed against his upper thighs, moving painfully slowly towards their intended destination. As she continued to trace maddening circles in the vicinity of where he wanted her the most, the substantial bulge that was already stretching the fabric of his underwear became even more salient, and Booth's head lolled against Brennan's shoulder when she finally cupped him through the flimsy fabric of his boxer shorts. His breath audibly hitched in response to her gentle squeeze, and the way the wet cotton was clinging to him made the friction of her touch even more unbearable. His cock, however, twitched its approval, and his eyes rolled back when she began stroking him with practiced ease.

"Oh God," he muttered, as his body began to thrum with heat, but he caught her fingers as they reached for his waistband, shaking his head affectionately.

"Not yet," he admonished with a teasing smile, realising he had some unfinished business to attend to. "Sit down," he demanded, reiterating her earlier instructions, and his eyes darkened as they settled on her compliant form. He sank to his knees, settling himself between her legs, and then his lips were everywhere, sucking, licking, and tasting her until he was satisfied that he had devoured and tantalised every exposed piece of skin. All the while, his calloused hands had been gently caressing the length of her impossibly smooth legs, but now they roved upwards, stopping when they reached the hem of her undershirt. He met her passionate gaze, silently seeking permission, and she nodded, pressing her lips against his own in a bid to convey her consent. He allowed himself to be distracted from his mission for a moment, and once again their tongues clashed fervently in what was essentially an amicable duel. His fingers softly traced her ribcage as she moaned her appreciation into his tingling mouth, but when they brushed against the outline of her bra, he suddenly realised his tongue could be engaging in a wealth of other activities, too. She whimpered out her protests as he gently pulled away from her, but the whimper quickly evolved into a groan as he expertly fondled her breasts. Her undershirt disappeared before she had time to register where it went, and then Booth was deftly unhooking the clasp of her bra, exposing her pert breasts to eyes that were burning with anticipation.

He paused for a moment, drinking her in, and at that moment he knew a rocket launcher couldn't topple the pedestal that he'd placed her on. She was stunning, but she flushed under his elongated appraisal, and when he saw her bow her head shyly, clearly battling with the compulsion to conceal herself from his appreciative gaze, he cupped her chin in his hands, forcing her to retain eye contact.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he stated vehemently, not giving a damn how sentimental it sounded. She smiled at him then, and it was the radiant beam that surfaced all-too-rarely, the smile that had the capacity to stop him in his tracks. His eyes crinkled in response, and he guided her gently to her feet, pulling her into a tender embrace. They took a moment to re-capture their breath, absorbing the heady sensation of their naked torsos fusing seamlessly together, but when he felt Bones' hardened nipples pressing against the smooth expanse of his chest, self-restraint was no longer a viable option. Following her earlier lead, he reached for the body wash, and poured a good-sized portion between the valley of her flawless breasts, watching it trickle down to her belly button before he finally began to work it into a lather. Realising it would afford him better leverage, he embraced her from behind, and Brennan arched into him when he began stroking the flat planes of her stomach, his calloused palms creating a delectable friction against her soft skin.

Her appreciative moans were more reticent than he'd imagined, but he liked the fact that she wasn't the type to put on a show, and her soft mewls of contentment were making him insufferably harder. She ground her ass against him, wordlessly begging for attention, and he allowed his fingers to gently caress the underside of her breasts in response. She sighed in a torrid mixture of frustration and arousal, and her hips bucked against him when he finally cupped the pebbled mounds in his all-encompassing hands. He kneaded her breasts tenderly, testing their weight, and his tongue found her sensitive earlobe just as all four of his fingertips took turns to brush against her painfully aroused nipples. She gasped, momentarily becoming rigid in his arms, and he tightened his hold on her, reassuring her that she was in safe hands.

Unlike the previous lovers Brennan had encountered, there wasn't anything remotely aggressive about Booth's technique, and yet she reacted more viscerally to his tender touch than she ever had during the frantic sessions of copulation she had become accustomed to in the past. All of her nerve endings seemed to be on fire, and she realised with a sense of awe that Booth had barely made it to second base and she was already over-stimulated. Then her partner dropped his mouth to her right breast, sucking her aching nipple between his able lips, and she lost the ability to think coherently. As his well-trained tongue swirled and flicked at the painfully erect nub, Brennan knew the surge of liquid heat that pooled between her legs was definitely not attributable to the shower, and when Booth finally slipped his hand between her legs, effortlessly locating her throbbing clitoris through the fabric of her underwear, she cried out, feeling her whole body flush in approval.

Without a doubt, the rapturous expression on Bones' face as she bucked against his hand was the sexiest thing Booth had ever seen, but he quickly decided that her underwear had to go. He briefly desisted his languorous ministrations, but before he had chance to remove the offending garment, her eyes flew open, and she regarded him confusedly. He gave her a tender smile, lightly tugging at the waistline of her briefs, and she shimmied her way out of them, exposing a trim thatch of auburn curls and a toned, shapely ass to his hungry gaze. He reached for her almost immediately, but she captured his hands in her far smaller ones, bringing them to her lips and eyeing him intently.

"You too," she murmured, and then she was easing off his boxer shorts and freeing his pulsating cock from its prison. Now it was her turn to stare, and her eyes widened as she absorbed the extent of his manhood. He was magnificent, and she couldn't contain the compulsion to take him in her hand, silently marvelling at his girth as she encircled him with fingers that were trembling with anticipation.

He growled as she began lightly rubbing up and down his length, setting an even, but maddeningly slow rhythm, but when his fingers fell between her slick folds, eagerly beginning an all-too-adroit quest to stroke her into oblivion, her hand jerked against him erratically. Her attempts to match his increasingly vigorous pace were driving him to distraction, and he was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. His fingers were coated in her wetness, and she moaned deep in the back of her throat when he suddenly slipped two of them inside of her. If the hand that was so skilfully manipulating his cock hadn't suddenly stilled, that noise in itself – in conjunction with the intoxicating scent of her ever-increasing arousal - would have been enough to push Booth over the edge. As it was, he seized the opportunity to grip Bones' slender wrist, drawing her hand away from its quarry and settling it against her heaving chest instead. And then he was curling his fingers and pumping them inside of her in one fluid motion, and she was limply clutching his hand as he divided his attention between her softly swaying breasts. His thumb massaged her pounding clit in perfect syncopation with the fingers that teased and tweaked her throbbing nipples, and then suddenly she was convulsing violently against him and sobbing out his name.

He continued his rhythm at a more languorous pace until the aftershocks finally subsided, and his cock stiffened still further, screaming with envy as her slick walls tightened around his tense fingers.

"Booth," she whispered weakly, collapsing against him, and he sank into a sitting position, pulling her onto his lap. The shower was lukewarm now, and it rained down on them, cooling their overheated bodies until they regained some semblance of composure. Brennan buried her head in the crook of his shoulder, but not before he caught a glimpse of the raw vulnerability characterising her flushed features. His chest constricted painfully when he saw a lone tear streaking down her cheek, and he pulled her closer, gently caressing her arms.

"What's wrong?" he whispered hoarsely, and her glimmering eyes flew open, fixing on his own without flinching.

"Nothing," she reassured him, tenderly caressing his cheek. "That was amazing. I just… it's never been like this for me before," she admitted, rolling her eyes at the clichéd confession. "I guess I'm just a little… overwhelmed."

Booth regarded her intently. He usually relished breaking down his partner's defences, and if this had been anyone else, he would have been swaggering with pride at having reduced such an assertive and uncompromising woman to a quivering wreck with the mere touch of his hands. This, however, wasn't anyone else. "Bones, promise me that this isn't going to fuck things up between us," he pleaded, and she could hear the desperation in his tone.

"I promise," she assured him, holding his gaze attentively, but her confidence wavered when she saw the myriad of conflicting emotions crossing his face. He was obviously struggling with something, and she felt a crippling pang of insecurity when it occurred to her that Booth might have already decided that this was a mistake.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she beseeched, and Booth was wrenched from his reverie by the uncharacteristic uncertainty in her tone. She regarded him with an expression that barely managed to mask her underlying alarm, and he traced the outline of her jaw, seeking out her pliant lips and using his skilled mouth to assuage her doubts.

"I was just wondering how to tell you…" He faltered, swallowing audibly, and Brennan gripped the forearms that were still tightly encircling her waist.

"How to tell me what, Booth?" She demanded, and her heart rate began to rapidly accelerate.

"That I'm… hopelessly in love with you," he choked out, avoiding her gaze so he wouldn't have to witness an adverse reaction. He felt her tense in his arms, but then she was straddling his legs and swivelling to face him, grinding her lingering wetness against his quivering thighs. She gently sucked his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling him into a searing kiss, and at first her hands seemed content to wind their way through his hair and trace intimate patterns across the nape of his neck. Then they were trailing down the length of his torso, leaving his flesh prickling in their wake, and before he knew what was happening, her fingers were expertly kneading his persistent erection and her thumb was brushing teasingly against the head of his cock.

Her lips were still devouring him as he grunted in barely coherent approval, and she pulled away, regarding him with iridescent eyes that were dilated with arousal. "Why don't you show me instead?" she whispered, and he jerked appreciatively against her hips as her nimble ministrations suddenly became far more forceful. One of her silken hands dropped downwards to tickle his aching balls, and the tightness in his groin was rapidly becoming too much to bear.

For the second time that night, Booth mustered his last iota of willpower, reaching out to steady his partner's hands. Her eyes snapped up to meet his own and he gave her a tender smile, regretfully shaking his head. "Not here," he said, having noted that they were both beginning to shiver under the shower's increasingly frosty spray. He reached for a fresh towel, engulfing Bones' slender frame inside of it, and began to vigorously rub away the droplets of water that were clinging to her lustrous skin. Laughing, she mimicked his actions, paying special attention to the area between his legs as she proceeded to teasingly pat him dry. He groaned then, and the primal sound echoed through to her core. Her eyes darkened as she threw the towel to the floor, clasping his hand and leading him determinedly in the direction of her bedroom. She pulled him forcibly towards her King-sized bed, and he had no choice but to collapse helplessly on top of her.

Brennan felt every inch of her partner's lithe form pressing against her, and her eyes fluttered shut as she absorbed the invigorating sensation of finally being able to pull him as close as she wanted to. Her fingernails dug bluntly into his perfect ass, encouraging him to grind against her, and when she felt the sizeable length of him slipping between her thighs her stomach muscles contracted sharply and her breath audibly hitched. They traded breathless kisses, and she greedily inhaled his rich scent, arching into him when his lips once again dropped downwards to latch onto her straining nipples.

"Booth, please," she begged, and suddenly his face was inches away from her own and he was smoothing back her dampened hair and tracing the outline of her lips with his thumb.

"You're sure?" he ventured, and she clutched his face in her trembling hands, willing his eyes to find what they were searching for.

"God! Yes, I'm sure!" she exclaimed between breathless pants, and he smiled slightly at her vehemence.

She bit back a whimper of protest as he suddenly pulled away from her, absent-mindedly caressing her stomach whilst he reached out to fumble through the contents of her bedside drawer. When she realised what he was searching for, she laid a hand gently on his forearm. "I take oral contraceptives, Booth," she informed him softly. "We don't need to use a condom." She flushed slightly under his contemplative gaze, and hastened to clarify. "I mean, I'm safe. I use them with everybody else. I just…" She trailed off, regarding him almost bashfully. "I trust you."

Booth's expression was tender as he once again leant towards her, and she shivered when his hands settled possessively against her hips. She parted her legs, settling them on either side of him as she bent her knees to allow him the access they both so desperately craved. He kissed her, sweetly, lovingly, and as their tongues once again tangled with fervent ardour, he eased himself into her, bracing his weight to ensure he wasn't exerting too much pressure on her slender form. Her eyes rolled back in blissful rapture as her slick walls stretched to accommodate him. He filled her more completely than she had ever been filled before, but there was no pain, only the most intense pleasure. She let out a primal moan as he began to gently rock against her, angling her hips so she could feel every inch of him shifting within her, and then she travelled to a realm that was white-hot light and pure sensation.

Booth was torn between laughter and tears as he sank into his partner's warmth. Her walls were clenched so tightly around him that every subtle shift of her hips massaged his throbbing cock, and he studied her face attentively to decipher her reactions. When he was sure that she had adjusted to his size, he deepened his thrusts, almost withdrawing from her completely before effortlessly sliding into her again, establishing a slow but steady rhythm. Her wetness pooled around him, and she was so impossibly soft that he could no longer restrain a grunt of fulfilment. Animalistic noises spilled from his lips as her hips kept rising to seamlessly meet his own, and he gradually relinquished his death grip on her thighs in favour of gently squeezing her breasts.

Her eyelids flickered as he ran the back of his hand over her nipples, the bumps of his knuckles further stimulating the rosy pink buds. She licked her lips, before pursing them tightly, and when he withdrew his hand, her brow puckered in disappointment. He quickly remedied her distress by pressing the tip of his thumb lightly against her clitoris, and he watched the myriad of emotions playing across her features as he began to mercilessly tease the swollen nub, rubbing against her with sporadic bursts of enthusiasm before drastically slowing his pace.

"Fuck me! Jesus Christ! Booth!" she cursed in quick succession, and Booth felt his balls beginning to spasm as she began to buck against him frantically.

"Faster," she begged, and he hoped she was close because he knew he wouldn't be able to endure the added stimulation for much longer. The friction was driving him wild, and he began to chant her name in a fit of rhapsody as he pounded into her, somehow managing to maintain enough decorum to continue caressing her clit.

"You with me, Bones?" he gasped out, barely coherently, and her glazed eyes flew open, fixing on his.

"Always," she vowed, and the unexpectedly devoted reply was his undoing. They crashed over the precipice together, clinging to each other the whole way down, and then they were left to ride the waves of the most powerful orgasm they had ever endured. As he jerked inside of her, spilling his seed, Brennan's walls pulsated around him in perfect tandem, and he couldn't bring himself to withdraw from her. Instead, he used his last iota of energy to flip them over, so she was lying flush against his chest, and he cradled her tenderly against him, stroking the length of her spine and whispering uncensored words of adoration into her dishevelled hair.

"I love you, Booth," she whispered, clinging to him limply, and his eyes welled with unshed tears as he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Booth tried desperately hard to cling onto this unparalleled feeling of contentment and concentrate solely on the beautiful woman who was lying peacefully in his arms, but as Bones fell into a sated slumber, his thoughts inevitably returned to Dillon Crane. The fact that he was even capable of banishing the image of the little boy's battered face to the back of his mind made him question his humanity, and he was consumed with guilt when he considered that for the last two hours, his only thoughts had been of Bones. He hadn't once stopped to consider that whilst he was losing himself in his partner's considerable charms, that wretched little boy was lying on a cold, hard autopsy slab, waiting for his fate to be determined by a coroner's scalpel. What kind of monster was he?

Brennan was lost in the realms of semi-consciousness when she felt her partner tense beneath her. She shifted slightly, her brow furrowing with concern, but it was only when she heard Booth draw in a shuddering breath that she realised the droplets gathering in the crook of her shoulder were not the sweaty remnants of their earlier exertions. Her partner was crying. She glanced up at him in alarm, and Booth hastily swiped at his eyes.

"God, I'm sorry, Bones," he apologised, praying that she didn't think he was shedding tears of regret. "You're amazing – you're everything to me – but I just…" he choked back a sob. "I can't get his face out of my head."

Brennan tenderly pressed her lips against her partner's cheek and then hopped out of bed, returning a few moments later with a sizeable measure of whiskey. She handed it to him wordlessly, and he gratefully gulped it back, staring into the depths of the marbled glass as though he was searching for the secrets of the universe.

Brennan gently removed it from his shaking hands, and then sat back down on the bed, cupping his chin in her palm and stroking the underside of his jaw. "You have nothing to feel guilty for, Booth," she assured him, and her eyes were shining with such sincerity that he almost dared to believe her.

She wrapped her arms around him, engulfing him in a warm embrace, and as his head fell listlessly against her shoulder and he inhaled the sweet scent of her skin, he was assailed with memories of their love-making and drew solace from the sensory overload. His demons slowly crawled back into the dark cave from whence they came and he realised, then, that this was one of Bones' many gifts. The ability to make him forget everything else.


End file.
